


An Unexpected Journey to Safe Haven

by queenofsevenfandoms



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Book/Movie 3: The Death Cure, Crank Newt (Maze Runner), Fix-It, M/M, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Post-The Death Cure, Sad Newt (Maze Runner), The Death Cure Spoilers, WICKED | WCKD is Not Good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofsevenfandoms/pseuds/queenofsevenfandoms
Summary: Another Death Cure fix it for Newt and Thomas. Newt fights his way to reach the Safe Haven and his friends.Newt woke up surrounded by smoke. The ground was unsteady, rocking along with the sounds of gunfire and crackles of fire. He groaned, moved to sit up. But he couldn’t move. There was something blocking him. Slowly, Newt opened his eyes. It was disorienting, and his vision of the city bounced up and down. Something tightened around his back and that’s when he put the pieces together. Newt wasn’t lying on the ground. He was being carried through the city in a pair of arms.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 78





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another Newt story (because I have no self control) where he survives the events of Death Cure.
> 
>   
> I stuck with the movie plot line for this one. Personally, I thought too many people survived, and I liked the idea of someone else in the group being left behind, too. The person I decided on was Vince! I explain the reasons for him not being on the Berg--and it's definitely not canon, but it's yet one of the many ways Newt could have survived had people used their brains a bit. 
> 
> To be honest, I can't remember exactly where Vince was during the Last City destruction. In my version… Vince was there when Gally/Minho ran to get the cure, and Vince ran with the kids to help Newt and Thomas. So instead of Vince being in the berg with the other’s (like when they rescued Thomas from the burning building) he was tasked with getting Newt to the berg. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!
> 
> None of the characters belong to me, all credit to James Dashner.

* * *

Newt woke up surrounded by smoke. The ground was unsteady, rocking along with the sounds of gunfire and crackles of fire. He groaned, moved to sit up. But he couldn’t move. There was something blocking him. Slowly, Newt opened his eyes. It was disorienting, and his vision of the city bounced up and down. Something tightened around his back and that’s when he put the pieces together. Newt wasn’t lying on the ground. He was being carried through the city in a pair of arms.

Newt looked up at the person’s face, and the first thing he noticed was the blood in the man’s patchy blonde beard. He wanted to ask who he was, and where he was taking him, but a loud crash echoed through the air. _What the shuck was that?_ It was a horrific sound, one that shook the entire ground beneath them. The man barely managed to stay on his feet, tripping over the trembling ground.

“God damnit,” the man huffed, and began to sprint down the streets.

With each stride, white hot pain scorched through his chest. Unintentionally, Newt writhed in agony at the pain.

The man’s arms tightened around Newt. “Kid, if you wanna stay alive, you gotta stop squirming.”

Newt froze. He had no reason to argue. Though it brought an important question to his mind. _Why am I not dead?_

For the remainder of the man’s journey in carrying Newt through the collapsing city, Newt faded in and out of consciousness. Something tickled at the front of his mind, begging for his attention. _What am I trying to remember?_

Something glistened beneath his eyes. Newt looked down, glimpsing the dagger in his chest. Then, it all came rushing back.

“Tommy,” Newt whispered.


	2. Chapter 1: Waking Up

* * *

The next time Newt woke up, he was on the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to try to move. Everything hurt. His head was throbbing, his chest in constant pain, and his leg was nearly numb from overuse.

There was a rustle nearby. Newt opened his eyes. He was in some sort of room, laying on a blanket on the floor. In the corner, a man was bent over going through items in a bag.

The man turned, and Newt’s breath hitched. 

“Vince?” Newt croaked. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

Vince walked over to him. “Hey, kid.” His eyes lowered to Newt’s chest.

Newt tilted his head up to finally look at the source of his pain. He was shirtless, aside for white wrappings around his chest. Newt was about to ask what happened when he spotted a knife a few feet away on the ground. He remembered it all: Rescuing Minho, the fight, his final moments with Thomas. _Please, Tommy, please._ He wished he didn't remember. Vaguely, Newt registered the tear that fell down his cheek. Had Tommy and Minho made it out alive?

Vince’s expression softened and he put a hand on Newt’s shoulder. “Can’t believe you didn't bite the dust.”

“Me either,” Newt admitted. “Thought I was a goner.”

Vince laughed, and sank on the ground beside Newt.

“Where are we?”

“In one of the only houses still standing,” Vince replied. “Lucky I found it.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes until Newt dared to ask the question. “How am I alive?”

Vince leaned his head back in his hands, sighing deeply. “Got Brenda to thank for that. Minho and Gally came looking for the cure to get to you. Knew they might need some back up, so I followed. Told Jorge to fly the berg to WCKD headquarters and we’d all meet up there.” Vince took a deep breath. “When we found you, you had a knife sticking out of your chest.”

The world tilted. Newt remembered brief flashes of his struggle with Thomas. Moments of flailing arms and inhuman screeches as he attacked his best friend.

“If I had a knife in my buggin’ chest, how the bloody hell am I alive?”

“I’m getting there. Don’t know what you remember, but Teresa broadcast a message over the city. Everyone heard it.” Vince laughed. “Imagine our surprise finding out that Thomas’s blood was the final component of the cure—"

“His _what_?”

“Blood.”

 _Leave it to Thomas to be the buggin’ hero._ “Of course it's his shuckin' blood. Guess that explains why Brenda hadn’t cranked out on us again."

Vince nodded, leaning forward and propping his hands on his knees. “We should have realized it sooner.” _That’s the buggin’ truth._ “Can't change it now. But Thomas, being the idiot that he is, ran off after Teresa... He thought you were dead.”

Newt’s heart sank in his chest. “Is he—" Newt couldn’t finish the question.

“I don’t know,” Vince admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But knowing Thomas, he pulled off some stupid stunt at the last minute and got them all out.” Why did Thomas always put himself in harms way for people who weren’t worth it? _Like me._ “But after he ran off, Minho took the cure and gave it to you anyway.” Vince shook his head, and looked to the ground. “To be honest kid, I thought it was a waste of time. You were good as dead.”

“I told them to leave me behind,” Newt said. “They should have.”

“No point in should haves now, kid,” Vince said, then continued his story. “After giving you the cure, someone had to go after Thomas. I told Minho, Gally, and Brenda to go on and get him. Said I’d bring your body to the berg. A few seconds after they ran off, you shot straight up.”

 _Definitely don’t remember that._ The last thought Newt remembered having was a thought he never voiced, and never allowed himself to think before. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to linger on it, on what he almost told Thomas in his final moments.

“I wrapped something around the wound in your chest and was headed to WCKD headquarters to meet everyone when the buildings started to collapse. I had no other choice,” Vince said, his voice low and laced with sorrow. “It was too late. I ran us through the city, and saw the berg fly off in the distance.”

Newt put a hand over his mouth. Who had made it out? Had Thomas managed to get back to everyone? Or was he somewhere lying in rubble—Newt cut the thought off as quickly as it came. Thomas survived. Minho survived. They had to.

“After making it out of the chaos in the main part of the city, I ran until I found this place.” Vince gestured around the room, the sunlight streaming in the window onto his blonde hair. “Didn’t know if you’d make it. The knife barely missed vital stuff.” Vince winced. “Only know that stuff cause of Mary. Good that I did, because I had my backpack on me and was able to stitch you up. Not pretty work, but it’ll do.”

“Why did you carry me all that way?” Newt asked, his voice muffled by his hand. “It was a bloody fools mission.”

Vince’s normally icy exterior softened and he tilted his head back, sighing. “Know it doesn’t seem in my nature, kid. Guess I just couldn’t stand to see another one of you idiots die.”

If Newt was being honest with himself, it was an act so out of character for Vince, that unless he had remembered being carried through the city, he wouldn’t have believed it. “Thank you, Vince. I bloody owe you.”

Vince laughed. “Save it.”

“Well,” Newt said, slowly pushing himself up to lean against the wall. “Where the bloody hell are they now?”

“My guess is they’re far, far from here.”

“The safe haven.”

“I told Jorge where it was just in case we all got split up. Turns out, that was a good call.” Vince paused, rubbing his calloused hands together. “We’re working on a deadline, Newt,” Vince said eventually, his voice more exhausted than Newt was used to hearing. “Dunno how long, but we’ve gotta get you to Safe Haven with the cure and Thomas’s blood. _Before_ you crank out again.”

Newt swallowed hard. “Well,” Newt said, struggling to push to his feet. The pain in his leg and chest was agonizing, but to get back to his friends, Newt would endure hell itself. “We got some journey ahead of us.”

Vince sighed. “We can’t make it there without a berg.”

“Thomas managed the impossible with far less,” Newt snapped. “I’m not staying in this bloody city like a sitting duck waiting to be attacked by cranks! Or for me to lose my buggin’ mind again. We’re getting to that shucking place, no matter what it takes.” Newt extended his hand to Vince on the ground. _Even if I have to do it alone, I’m getting back to Tommy._

“You boys and your damn speeches.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this explanation of why Vince was there to get Newt makes sense! I know it's not exactly canon, but hey, you do what you gotta do to keep Newt alive :)
> 
> I'll keep writing if anyone enjoys this! The idea came to me out of no where, and I only have a rough idea of where it goes!


	3. Chapter 2: Weeks Passed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next have a slightly different set up! I wanted to plow through the monotonous days and weeks so we could get to the action :)

Hours passed. Newt and Vince had been walking around the city looking for survivors, supplies, or transportation. They found nothing but scattered ashes and bones. 

“What ya suggest we do, kid?” Vince slumped against a wall, gesturing around. “Not a thing for miles.”

_Why is he asking me_? Thomas is the one who— Newt looked to the ground. “I don’t have a shucking clue.” _God, we’re screwed_.

Later that afternoon, Vince found a car. Not that it did any good driving through the city, but it could get them out. But they both knew that without gasoline, it wouldn’t get them very far. They salvaged a few weeks worth of non perishable food from around the city, and even managed to find a case of water tucked in the trunk of a half demolished car.  People had been hoarding supplies for weeks thanks to the virus,  Vince had explained. Lucky for the two of them that they wouldn’t die of starvation after surviving the fall of the last city.

A week after finding the car, they were no closer to finding a way back to safe haven. Vince wanted to wait to leave the city until they found more food, and give some time in case someone came back looking for survivors. So far, no one had come. They had only run into a few cranks. The destruction of the city had seemingly wiped out nearly every crank...and every living person.  Unless you count the hundreds of bones we pass every day . The wound in Newt’s chest was slowly healing. Whatever Vince did, he did a shucking good job of it. No infection, no rips in the stitches. A small part of Newt wondered if the cure he was injected with helped him heal quicker.

Two weeks passed. Newt was growing anxious that they would never find a way to safe haven.  _I have to get back to them. To Tommy_. The worse thing that had come out of the two weeks was that it gave Newt time to think. He pondered over every hateful thing he said to Thomas before succumbing to the virus. “ _I hate you, Tommy! I always hated you_.” If Newt were wise, he would find a way to study the virus one day. To figure out how the hell the flare made him feel the exact opposite of what he felt for Tommy in his final moments. He’d find a way to make sure no one ever had to choose between killing themselves and killing their best friend.

On the third week, they found more food and water. It wasn’t a lot, but enough to last them a few more weeks.  _We’ve gotta get out of here, kid_. Vince, to Newt’s surprise, was not the man Newt thought he was. Sure, he was a hard ass and unrelenting at times, but underneath it all was a man who had lived through deep, unfathomable loss. The difference between the Gladers and the rest of the world, Newt thought, was that they were able to forget the tragic events that ended the world. Anyone who wasn’t a WCKD kid experiment had to live with the losses spanning over a decade. Most nights, Newt and Vince spent their time talking about those memories. And they talked about the glade, old memories Vince had in the Right Arm... what they wanted for the future.  _There is only one thing I want for the future, and it will never be mine_. At the end of the third week, the first black vein appeared.

It was on the fourth week that Newt admitted what he had been thinking for weeks. They were never making it to the safe haven.  _Or at least I’m not making it back_. Newt's head was starting to ache and feel foggy again. The first outburst Newt had led Vince to banish him to a mandatory bed rest.  _Gotta keep your heart level and not stressed_.  _It’ll prolong the spread until we get back_. Vince was more optimistic than Newt that they would find a way there. During his moments of clarity, Newt knew Vince was right. In the few less sane moments, he wasn’t so sure. It was happening all over again, and Newt was afraid. 

_What if I try to kill Vince_? It wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened with Thomas if he did. No matter how optimistic Vince had been, Newt would make sure he did what Thomas bloody couldn’t.  _Why couldn’t the stupid shuck have just killed me_? Did he always have to try to be the buggin hero? Newt had forgotten just how furious he had been with Thomas before rescuing Minho. The stupid shuck face had his head so far up Teresa’s ass that Newt was convinced even a griever wouldn’t be able to get him out. It made Newt want to scream and laugh at the same time. One time, Newt did laugh, and Vince hurried out of the house to “ _go search again_.”

Some good that would do. Newt was content to wait in the house and slowly lose his mind. _Again_. If only Thomas had the balls to finish the job the first time, Newt wouldn’t be in this mess. It was always his fault. Everything single thing the Gladers had been through: The maze, the days in the scorch, Chuckie’s death, Alby and Winston’s death, Newt’s failed attempt. All of it was Thomas’s shucking fault. Most of all, it was the stupid shanks fault that Newt wanted to shove him up against the wall. It was his fault that Newt loved him in a way he shouldn’t. 

It was late afternoon that day when Vince found it. He came stomping in the house, ecstatic.

“A radio? What goods a buggin radio going to do us?”

Vince adjusted the dials. “There’s a radio on the berg. In the off chance someone’s on board, or near one of the radio’s in the safe haven, I might be able to get a message through.”

Newt was hesitant to get his hopes up. For the next four nights while Newt slowly lost his mind, Vince called in different stations on the radio. He called the known frequencies the right arm had used and any frequency he could remember. Nothing. After hours of Vince calling each day, Newt had accepted it. He was going to die. This time around, Newt had only one regret. That he failed to make it home to his friends.

But on the first morning of week five, someone answered. 


	4. Chapter 3: Thomas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter from poor baby Thomas :)
> 
> Thank you for all the love so far, I'm having such a fun time writing this!

* * *

_Newt is dead_.

That was the first conscious thought Thomas remembered after waking up in the safe haven. Four days had passed since then. Four days of rebuilding, grieving, and carving names into stone. Minho and Thomas each carved half of Newt’s name. In the end, no one carved Teresa’s name. Even after she saved his life, Thomas couldn’t do it. He didn’t want her name up on the stone for her to be remembered alongside Newt, or anyone else who had died at WCKD’s hand: Chuck, Alby, Winston and Vince.

 _She did give you the cure_ , Minho had said to him one night. Of all people to argue for her name in stone, Thomas never dreamed it be Minho. Everyone knew that Minho’s time in WCKD’s captivity had changed him. He didn’t smile or speak as much unless it was to Thomas. He didn’t partake in teasing Gally about his crush on Brenda, or sharing stories around the campfire. Both he and Thomas spent a lot of time sitting in silence by the ocean shore. The cure weighed heavy on his mind every time Thomas stared out into the horizon. Staring out at the crank infested world they had left behind. Jorge had given him a few weeks to decide what their plan of action was with the cure. For the first time in his life, that he could remember, Thomas didn’t want to decide what to do. He wanted the burden to fall on someone else’s shoulders.

A week passed after waking up. The pain lingered. It was nothing compared to how broken Thomas felt inside. Newt was gone. _I killed my best friend._ In the last week, Thomas had read the letter Newt gave him at least a couple dozen times. He had it memorized by day two. The words weren’t enough. It wasn’t the same as looking beside him and finding Newt already looking his way. It didn’t compare to the way Thomas’s heart eased when Newt was by his side, giving him encouragement and reminding him to sleep. Nothing could compare, and yet... Thomas couldn’t bring himself to stop reading.

Two weeks passed. Thomas still couldn’t sleep. Nightmares plagued the entire camp.It was rare that he, or any of the survivors, made a night without waking up to a panicked scream. Sometimes, after a particular horrid nightmare, Thomas would wander down to the beach and find Minho already there. They spent many nights waiting for the sun to rise. Thomas could finally look Gally in the eye without wanting to punch him.

Three weeks after arriving in the safe haven, there was finally a rhythm beginning to form. Jorge, Thomas, and some of the others had helped set up jobs. Everyone had their set places to be during the day. Both he and Minho stayed busy with Jorge doing various tasks. Despite staying busy, things felt worse than before. It was difficult for Thomas to make it a day without breaking down where no one could see. He still carried Newt’s letter on him at all times, reading it during the moments he couldn’t breathe.

On the fourth week, Thomas still hadn’t made a decision about the cure. There were older survivors who knew how to replicate what Teresa had created, and with his blood, they would have a permanent cure for the flare. It sounded simple enough, but no one quite knew what to do after this step. _I wish you were here, Newt_. He would know what to do. If he didn’t, he would sit with Thomas until they figured it out. It was also during the fourth week that Thomas’s dreams shifted. He was used to seeing Newt’s face in his dreams. Usually some twisted versions of his death. This time, it was something far different.

_The first dream seemed painfully real at the beginning. Thomas was on the beach reading Newt’s final goodbye. His tears fell on the sand. The moonlight danced over the waves. From somewhere behind him came a cough. Newt stood, virus free and smiling._

_Thomas darted forward and threw his arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. They stood this way for a long time before Newt’s hand shifted lower down Thomas’s back._

_Thomas’s heart leapt awkwardly in his chest. “Newt,” he breathed._

_The touches were nothing like Teresa’s or Brenda’s. Every trail of his finger up and down Thomas’s spine made his stomach clench and legs tremble._

_Newt lifted his other hand and tilted Thomas’s chin up, amber eyes meeting his own. “Please, Tommy. Please.” The words sounded different now, but were still a plea brought out of want and desperation._

_It wasn’t long before the two were a mess of tangled limbs on the sand._

For the rest of the week, Thomas dreamt of freckled faces and tanned chests. Each morning he woke up to the feel of Newt’s hand trailing down his arm. Those were the cruelest dreams. The ones that weren’t filled with dark eyes and knives, but the ones that showed the endless possibilities of what could have been. Thomas choked the dreams up to loneliness and the grief over losing his friend. During their time in the maze, through the scorch, and even in the end, Thomas knew he and Newt had a special bond. Never in that time had Thomas thought of Newt in any way other than his friend. _Though there was the time at the campfire in the glade_. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for Thomas to figure it out. 

Time passed slowly after those dreams.

The fifth week of being in safe haven, everything changed. Thomas and Minho were making their rounds with Jorge when Brenda came sprinting down the sand.

“Problem with the berg?” Jorge asked.

“Was cleaning—message—berg radio— _Vince_ ,” was all she choked out before Thomas and Jorge sprinted through the sand.

On board, Jorge fumbled with the radio. “Vince? Vince!” Jorge shouted.

A laugh. “Yeah. It’s me.”

Thomas stared in shock. Jorge clamped a hand over his mouth. _Would Vince bring back Newt's body_? Or had he left it somewhere in the rubble of the city, forgotten and buried underneath the broken buildings?

“Can't believe you survived."

“Barely. Got any plans of venturing to the last city for a rescue?”

“Of course we’ll come get ya, hermano. We can be there in a few days—"

A grunt in the background made everyone pause.

“Who’s with ya, Vince?”

There was a rustle over the line followed by a pause. “Found a survivor in the city. They need the cure—and quick. Won’t survive long without it. A day or two, tops.”

Jorge met Thomas’s eyes. It was now or never, Thomas realized. He had to decide now. A nod was all he gave, but it was answer enough. Thomas couldn’t let anyone else die on his watch.

Another pause over the line. “Jorge, hate to do this man, but—" he stopped, and took a deep breath. “Kick everyone else out of the room who’s listening. Gotta talk to you about something.”

Thomas opened his mouth to object but Jorge held up a hand. “Go, Thomas. I’ll fill you in after.”

Outside the berg, Thomas couldn’t stop pacing. Something was wrong, he could feel it. _Nothing’s wrong shank,_ Minho said multiple times. This is exactly what happened during their brief stay at the WCKD headquarters before the scorch. No one believed him then, and no one believed him now. _Couldn’t they give me the benefit of the doubt this once?_

A few minutes later, Jorge walked out, eyes tight. “Brenda. I need you to get your things and come with me. Thomas, we need you and Minho here to get a place set up for the—for the person who’s infected.” Jorge called to the others to be ready in ten, disregarding Thomas and hurrying to the berg. As he did, Thomas noticed that Jorge was averting his eyes.

Thomas knew something was wrong.

“We gotta sneak on,” Thomas whispered to Minho.

“Shank—"

Thomas didn’t let him finish the argument. He sprinted down the beach, grabbed his things and Minho’s, too. By the time he returned, Minho was still less than thrilled with Thomas’s idea. At the sound of raised voices from inside the berg, he relented and snatched his weapons and gear from Thomas.

The two snuck on board. As they peered around the corner, Thomas strained to hear what Brenda and Jorge were saying.

“He may not survive—"

“We have to tell them!” Brenda cried. “It’s not some random crank! It’s Newt!”

Thomas stumbled forward, blowing their cover. The words rang in his ears, pounding in tune with his heart. _It can’t be true._ Wordlessly, he stared at Jorge and Brenda. Their eyes were wide, and Brenda was saying something. He couldn’t hear her. _It can’t be true. I saw him die._ A tear fell down Thomas's cheek and onto his neck. _Can it be true?_ Neither of them said a word, their own eyes bright and shining.

Eventually, Thomas mustered up the courage when a shuffle of steps approached.

“Newt’s alive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know all looks bleak now, but I promise things will end well :)
> 
> ALSOOOO, yes I know in the movie Thomas carved Teresa's name but honestly..... I hated that. I understand he had complex feelings for her, but this is my fanfic so the that little detail has been properly chucked in the trash


	5. Chapter 4: The Radio Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt's POV again :)

* * *

“Yeah,” Vince laughed, smiling at Newt. “It’s me.”

The room was sticky hot. The fuzzy words over the radio blurred in Newt’s ears. _It’s happening again._ Newt groaned, sliding down on the wall. His heart was pounding too fast in his chest.

“Who’s with ya, Vince?” Jorge asked.

 _No._ Newt shook his head and mouthed _don’t tell them._ It was bad enough that he was losing his buggin’ mind, but it would be worse if the others knew. Let them think he was dead. It would hurt less that way for them, rather than knowing he hadn’t been killed by the knife. _Maybe they should tell Thomas I’m alive._ Make the shank wollow in his sorrows for everything he had done.

Vince explained there was a survivor he found in the rubble who was in need of a cure. _Permanent cure_ echoed through Newt’s foggy crank mind. Teresa had made a permanent cure. At the mention of her name, Newt had to physically palm the cool ground to calm himself. _Thomas is still screwing everything up_. They should have left Teresa to die in that burning city.

Something must have flashed in Newt’s eyes, or perhaps a word escaped from his gritted teeth. _Don’t tell them it’s me._ He vaguely heard Vince tell Jorge to kick everyone out of the room that was listening. Who else was there? _Is Tommy—_

“We don’t have much time, Jorge,” Vince was saying. “It’s Newt.”

Newt closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear Vince telling Jorge to hurry, that they needed the cure to be ready. Nothing they were saying would make a difference anyway. He was as good as gone for the _second_ time.

Minutes later, Newt felt the fog slowly start to lift from his mind. It took effort to open his eyes and slump back against the wall.

“We’ll get the cure and head that way. Thomas—”

Jolts of panic sweat through Newt. _Tommy is alive._ _He’s alive._

“No!” Newt shouted, causing Vince to flinch back. _Breathe you stupid shank. You can’t crank out yet._ “Please…” Newt barely registered the words leaving his mouth. “Please don’t bring Thomas.”

Vince stared.

“He can’t watch me die again.”

The line was silent. “Okay hermano.” In the end, Jorge decided to bring Brenda and a few older immunes he didn’t know. An entire day. It would take them twenty four hours to reach the Last City from the safe haven.

Time blurred. Newt slept. The crank returned and vanished at the sound of a shoe creak on the floor. Newt paced. _Has it been an hour? Six?_ He couldn’t tell. All his world consisted of was worried comments from Vince, pissed off feelings about Thomas, and laughter escaping from his mouth when he didn’t intend for it to. _There is nothing funny about Teresa dying._ A hand touched his shoulder. _It’s time_ , Vince said.

They stood outside the large house. Four weeks in this place and Newt was on the brink of finding a lighter and setting it aflame. He laughed. Burn it just like the rest of the city. The cool breeze removed a layer of the fog and Newt slumped down on the steps.

“You all right, kid?” Vince asked.

Newt nodded, keeping his eyes closed. “It’s worse when I get stressed.”

 _Then don’t get stressed_ , Vince had said. But the closer it came to Jorge and Brenda’s arrival, the more stressed and angry Newt became. He was becoming a crank for the second time, losing every piece of humanity left inside him. _Chuck, Alby, Winston,_ he repeated every prolonged minute that passed. _Chuck, Alby, Winston. Chuck, Alby—_

The sound of the berg in the air approached over head.

Ringing clouded his ears and Newt shot to his feet, panting with labored breaths. _I’m gone._ The anger boiled over, begging to be let out. _I’m not going to make it out of this place._

“Come on, Newt!” a voice pleaded. “Hang in there, kid.”

Newt couldn’t think. In his ear, someone was saying meaningless flickers of words about hanging on. Then, he stopped hearing, his world flickering between black and red. _I am losing myself again._ Newt looked to the berg landing in front of them. _I’m sorry, Tommy. I tried_.

Newt barely registered shoving the hands off of his shoulders. He turned.

_Goodbye, mate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, happy times are ahead!


	6. Chapter 5: Not Again

* * *

“I’m coming with.” Thomas threw his bag down on the floor of the berg and found a seat. “I don’t care what the shuck face said, I’m coming.”

Minho sat down next to Thomas. “We both are. Can’t change our minds.”

Jorge rolled his eyes. “Let it be known I tried. Let’s go.”

The flight was long and exhausting. Thomas spent most of his time pacing the floor of the berg, praying they were able to make it in time to save Newt. _If I lose him again, I won’t be able to endure it._ Losing him once was enough. The reoccurring dreams Thomas had over the last week replayed in his mind alongside the last words Newt ever said to him. _Please, Tommy. Please._

Thomas was scared to feel even a sliver of hope. _What if I lose him again?_ The what if questions plagued Thomas the entire flight to the last city. While the others slept, all he could do was worry. He had failed to save Newt once, failed to save so many others. For the first time, Thomas thought of the regret about allowing Teresa to die so easily. He should have made sure she survived to help save the word and rebuild the destruction she caused. Death was too simple of an out for her, and he hated her for it.

Towards the end of the flight, it was clear that everyone’s nerves had risen significantly. Thomas was pacing, Minho was huffing and tapping his leg repeatedly on the ground, and both Jorge and Brenda were updating them every few minutes of how much farther they had to go. Thomas couldn’t think straight, as if he had just woken up from a dream. The lack of sleep did him no favors, but the moment they landed, Thomas snatched the cure and shoved it in his pocket.

The door opened slowly, revealing bright lights and the smell of ash.

“Thomas, wait—"

Thomas ran. _I can’t lose him._ Through the city of rubble, Thomas ran. It didn’t matter the burning intensity in his lungs or the shouts from behind, Thomas ran to the house. _I can’t lose him._ A person was pacing in front of the steps. _Vince._

“Vince!”

Vince’s head shot up, eyed widening when he saw Thomas. “He needs the cure!” Vince’s face was pallid, terrified. He gestured back to the house as Minho skidded to a stop at Thomas’s side. “He ran inside!”

Thomas and Minho sprinted through the door, nearly knocking it off it’s hinges. The inside was large, dreary like a WCKD facility.

“Newt!” Minho shouted. “Get your scrawny shank ass out here!”

A snarl came in response from above.

 _No._ Thomas sprinted up the stairs, Minho on his tail. _Please, Newt. Don’t do this._ Another snarl sound from one of the rooms. Thomas met Minho’s eye.

Minho nodded. They split up, Thomas headed for the rooms to the left, Minho to the right.

“Newt!” Thomas’s heart was about to rip from his chest. _Where is he?_ The closest room and bathroom was empty. “Newt! Come on, man! Where are you? It’s Thomas!”

That’s when he heard it. A repetitive pounding sound from the room furthest down the hall. “Minho! Over here!”

Thomas kicked open the door. A hunched over figure was slamming it’s fists into the wall, blood falling from his knuckles to the floor. Images of fire and the sound of gunshots echoed in his ears, along with the broken whispers of his friend. _Please, Tommy._

“Barely. Got any plans of venturing to the last city for a rescue?”

“Of course we’ll come get ya, hermano. We can be there in a few days—"

As if Thomas voiced the memory out loud, the punching stopped. Slowly, the figure turned, his head craning to Thomas. Eyes as black as coal, dribbles of black down his mouth and veins all over his chest and throat. _Newt._

Newt stood, panting. If he recognized him, Thomas couldn’t tell. Before he could say a word, Newt darted across the room.

“Newt!” Minho shouted, pushing past Thomas. His fists wrapped around Newt’s shirt and he pushed him back against the wall. “It’s me! It’s—It’s Minho, you shank!”

Thomas couldn’t see their faces, but he heard a faint, strangled whisper. “ _Go_.”

“Shut up and let us save you!” Minho turned back to Thomas. “Do it now!”

Thomas took a step forward as Minho was sent flying back across the room into a dresser. The dresser splintered and collapsed, taking Minho to the ground. A second later, Thomas was shoved back into the wall.

“I can’t even look at your ugly shuck face!” Newt snarled. “After all I did for you, after all the freaking klunk I went through in the bloody Maze, you couldn’t do the one and only thing I’ve ever asked you to do.” Newt released one of the hands holding Thomas and gestured to his chest, smiling with black stained teeth. “This is _your_ fault Thomas! It’s always been your fault. I fucking hate you! And guess what? I’ll never stop hating you as long as I live.”

 _He doesn’t mean it._ Even though Thomas knew it wasn’t Newt talking, a tear fell down his face. The pounding in his heart was worse as he met the half black, half brown eyes staring back at him. _I would follow you anywhere_. Those were the words that mattered to Thomas. _You’re not dying on me today, Newt._

A movement passed in the peripheral of his eyes, and Thomas smiled through the tears welling in his eyes. “You’re going to hate me even more in a second.”

Newt’s eyes widened, and Minho shot out from behind and wrestled him to the ground. “I’m not losing you again, shuck face!” Minho straddled a flailing Newt, and pinned his arms to the ground. “NOW, THOMAS!”

Thomas sank to his knees to the side of the two boys and pulled the cure from his pocket. He met the fading brown eyes. It was Thomas’s turn to beg and plead now. "Please, Newt," Thomas whispered. "Please." _Please don’t leave me._

The eyes flickered brown, and Thomas stabbed.


	7. Safe Haven: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update!!! I wanted to get this chapter right so I rewrote it multiple times!

* * *

Newt woke up with a pounding headache. Moments later, a pair of arms wrapped around him.

“Tommy?”

The smile was the first thing he saw. Tears were covering a pair of brown eyes, but they didn’t belong to Thomas.

“Did nearly dying make you blind, shank?” Minho leaned back, smirking. “You look like a piece of klunk.”

“Like to see what you’d look like after crankin' out a second time.”

Minho’s beige skin turned ashen. “You all right?”

Newt looked down at his clear skin. “Besides the buggin headache, fine. Quit your pouting.”

The chair Minho was in squeaked as he leaned back, propping his head in his hands. “I’ll stop pouting once Tommy comes around and quite griping like the stupid shank he is. All I’ve heard for the last three days is Newt this, Newt that.” Minho scoffed. “If I wasn’t so happy to see you, I’d punch you in the throat.”

Newt felt like he had been punched in the throat. For the second time, he had lost himself to the flare and attacked his best friends. It took away the simplicity of the joy of surviving. “Minho, I—"

“Shuck it.” Minho leaned forward and gently flicked Newts forehead. “Don’t even say it. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I attacked you.”

“Gally attacks me every day by making me see his ugly shuck face.”

“Minho, I’m not bloody joking! I could have killed you and Thomas. That’s why Vince told you to stay behind!"

Minho waved a hand. “Whatever. You’re alive, end of story.”

Newt twisted his fingers together in his lap. For the first time he noticed the cot he was in, the scent of sea salt in the air. He looked up so fast his head began to spin. “We—I’m in the safe haven?”

A wide smile broke out on Minho’s face. “Yeah, shuck face. You made it.”

The two shared a grin and Newt pushed himself up in the cot. “Help me up, will ya? I wanna get a look at the bloody place.”

“You should rest.”

“I’ll do it myself—" he was interrupted by Minho’s newfound dirty vocabulary, and a pair of hands helping him up.

For the next few hours while the sun rose, Minho sat with Newt catching him up on all that happened during their weeks apart. Newt went first, explaining how he survived and all that Vince had done for him. According to Minho, Vince was already taking charge with Jorge and helping around. Then came Minho’s rehash. Hearing Minho’s side of the six months they were apart, even in spare details, was hard to bear. The story of the last city was even more vague than his recollection of spending half a year in WCKD’s lair. Based on the grimace that popped up on Minho’s face every time he mentioned Thomas, there was something he wasn’t telling Newt.

“Did something happen?” Newt asked hesitantly. The sound of his voice was smaller than it had been since that awful day in the glade. “Did I—is Thomas?”

Minho averted his eyes. “Thomas is fine.”

“Then what—"

“The stupid shank probably won’t tell you, but the night the last city fell... he was shot.”

Newt was to his feet in an instant. The motion made him dizzy, and if it hadn’t been for Minho’s quick reflexes, Newt would have fallen face first in the sand. Once Newt was seated back on the sand, he began to shout. “He was shot? Did I—bloody hell, Minho! Did I shoot Thomas?”

“No, you shank! While Vince was dealing with you, Thomas ran back in to Teresa.”

The name sent a jolt of something hot through Newt. The word that came to mind wasn’t one he wanted to voice. _Jealousy._ He knew that his anger towards Teresa hadn’t just been about her betrayal. That itself was one thing, but the anger that bubbled inside Newt’s chest every time she was near Thomas made him feel crazier than the flare.

“Where is she then?” Newt asked, looking back at the huts. “Guess I’ll have to get used to seeing her buggin face around.”

The extended silence was enough to clue Newt in on his mistake. His head whipped back to Minho. The look on his face wasn’t grief, and Newt expected he would never feel grief in regards to Teresa. But there was a sadness in his features that hadn’t been there before, a look Newt knew all too well. “She didn’t make it, did she?”

Minho shook his head.

“Well I sound like a bloody shank now, don’t I?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not mourning the shank after all the klunk she put us through.” Minho closed his eyes. “But after seeing you that night in the last city… I can’t say I don’t understand why they needed a cure so bad.”

That was the worst part about it, Newt thought. After everything that had happened to him, a small part of him understood. That part of him that understood was minute compared to the reasonable side of his mind that said there was another way. Teresa could have stayed and worked with Mary and the Right Arm to make the cure away from WCKD, and the result would have been the same, considering it was Thomas’s blood that was the missing piece.

There was nothing for Newt to say, so he nodded at Minho to continue.

“When Thomas ran in, Janson shot him. He was infected,” Minho added. “After that, Teresa took Thomas to the roof of WCKD headquarters as Lawrence bombed the place.”

“How did Tommy survive _that_ mess?”

“Luck. We were flying the berg overhead and saw them. We barely managed to get Thomas on board with his wound, and then the building collapsed with Teresa.”

 _What a bloody awful death_. “That’s—"

A voice called from behind them. _Tommy._

Ignoring Minho’s hand, Newt rose from the sand and turned. His heart skipped a beat at the sight. Seeing Thomas run towards him with the pale pink dawn sky in the back felt weirdly similar to the moment he saw Minho, Alby, and Thomas walking out of the maze after a night with the grievers.

Thomas crashed into Newt, knocking the air from his lungs. His arms clung desperately to Newt’s back. They stood this way for ages, long enough for Minho to disappear back to the huts. Eventually Thomas pulled back, their faces a hairsbreadths away. They were so close that when Thomas shifted, his nose touched the tip of Newt’s chin. Newt was frozen. Not even God himself could have compelled him to move. He could see the fuzzy outline of Tommy’s face. The chocolate brown eyes lifted to Newt, looking up through his dark set of lashes. 

A weird look passed over Tommy’s face and he stepped back. The distance rattled Newt, his body cold where Thomas’s hands had been. _Come back,_ he wished to say. He didn’t.

Instead, Newt played it safe. “Hi, Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will either be 1-2 more chapters!! So stay tuned <3


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